


Happy

by failing_at_fangirling



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Post-Canon, just a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28741575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/failing_at_fangirling/pseuds/failing_at_fangirling
Summary: “When I picture you happy, I see you with your own apartment somewhere outside of the palace and a desk where you can write anthologies of queer history. And I’m there, using up your shampoo and making you come to the grocery store with me and waking up in the same damn time zone with you every morning.”– Casey McQuiston,Red, White, and Royal BlueHenry and Alex enjoy a relaxing Saturday together after moving to Brooklyn.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 30
Kudos: 161





	Happy

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, [Bea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/take_me_out_baby/pseuds/take_me_out_baby/) and araqo for betaing, and thank _you_ for reading!

Alex feels Henry’s warm body, his chest slowly rising and falling, pressed flush against his back before he even registers being awake. He shuts his eyes tight against the morning sun filtering through the curtains on their bedroom window, twists around in Henry’s arms, and buries his head in his boyfriend's neck. Facing each other this way, with Alex’s head tucked under Henry’s jaw, Henry’s arm resting in the dip of Alex’s waist, Alex holding on to the broad expanse of Henry’s shoulder, their legs tangled and swimming in the sheets, it’s hard to tell where one of them ends and the other begins; they look like a single being but with two heads, four arms, and four legs. If Henry were awake, he might make a romantic comment about soulmates and Plato’s _Symposium_ and Alex would pretend to be annoyed, but Henry isn’t awake, so Alex decides they probably look like some kind of human–octopus hybrid.

Alex slips lower to rest his head against Henry’s chest where he can feel the steady beat of Henry’s heart, and he runs a fingertip over the ridge of Henry's spine. Sometimes when Alex can’t sleep, he tries to name each peak of bone and slope of skin here after the saints his abuela used to tell him about. 

Right as Alex reaches the Cliff of St. Valentine, otherwise known as the tip of Henry’s shoulder blade, a hum emanates from Henry’s chest. He presses a kiss into Alex’s hair, a silent ‘good morning’, which Alex returns with a kiss of his own in the soft valley where Henry’s shoulder connects to his chest and then continues his roaming.

Alex skims his hand down Henry’s back to tenderly grab his ass. Henry throws his leg over Alex’s hip and pulls him closer. Alex releases his grip on Henry to move his hand up instead to Henry’s cheek, guiding him into a languid kiss. Henry opens his mouth in invitation, and Alex rolls them both over so Henry is on his back and Alex is above him, hands and knees pressed into the mattress on either side of Henry’s shoulders and hips.

Later, when they’re sweaty and spent, Henry all-too-logically suggests they should shower and gently goads Alex out of bed. They kiss while the water is heating up, and some more while they stand under the warm spray, and again while Henry massages the fancy French eucalyptus-scented shampoo they have started sharing into Alex’s hair. Alex drags a loofah over Henry's chest, back, shoulders, and then his stomach, probably taking longer than is strictly necessary, and then sinks to his knees in front of Henry. 

After drying off with the luxurious fluffy towels Bea gave to them as a housewarming gift and retrieving the pajamas haphazardly discarded on their bedroom floor, they go downstairs—Alex to the sofa and Henry to the kitchen. 

A few minutes later, Henry, coffee in one hand and tea in the other, joins Alex on the sofa where he finds him frowning at his phone, a not uncommon occurrence when he’s reading the news.

“Alex?”

Alex looks up from his phone. “Hm?”

“All good?” Henry asks, pressing a steaming mug into Alex’s hands.

“Yeah,” he sighs, sipping his coffee, “McConnell’s just on some shit again. He’s going to try to block that big transportation package with fucking _procedurals.”_

“Which one is he, again?”

“Senate minority leader, babe, we’ve been over this. Looks like a 100-year-old turtle.” Alex turns his phone around to show Henry the photo of the senator accompanying the article. 

“Ah, right,” Henry nods his head in acknowledgement. “It’s not my fault your government is made up of a bunch of old white men who all look the same.”

“Arguably your great-great-great-great grandfather’s, though.” Alex raises one eyebrow, and looks up at Henry. 

“That is _arguably_ a gross oversimplification,” Henry retorts. “Have you really had enough coffee yet to argue with me?”

“No.” Alex scowls at his coffee, takes another sip, and then looks back at Henry. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome.” Henry smiles, sips his own tea, and opens his laptop.

“I should call my dad and Raf. See what the party’s thinking.” Alex continues scrolling through the Washington Post article on his phone.

“I thought you said McConnell doesn’t have the votes to actually do any real damage, though?”

“So, you did remember who he is, then,” Alex says smugly, looking at Henry again. Alex had jumped in the air when the Republicans lost control of the Senate in November, and he hadn’t wasted any time before he told Henry that the Republican Party had effectively been rendered impotent, at least for the next two years. It has been a few days now, though, since Henry was last subjected to Alex’s strategizing, and Alex thought Henry may have forgotten some of the finer details. 

“Yes,” Henry says with a small smile and a shrug of his shoulders. “My point being,” he rushes to continue, “if he can’t do anything, then you don’t really need to call your dad and Rafael on a Saturday morning.” Alex opens his mouth to disagree, but Henry stops him. “And you don’t have the votes to do anything either because I vote you don’t let Mitch McConnell intrude on our day off.”

“Not so fast, mister,” Alex says, trying to cross his arms while still holding a full mug of hot coffee, “50-50 vote requires a tie-breaker.” Alex pats the spot next to him on the sofa in an invitation to David, who has been sitting at their feet. David plops his head on Alex’s hand, forcing his phone down into his lap.

Henry laughs. “The nays have it!”

“Since when did you get so into democracy, your Highness?”

“I abandoned the Royal Family and moved to the United States, didn’t I? Don’t question my commitment to democracy.”

Alex snorts. “I won’t if you don’t tell me you moved here for the _democracy_.”

“Eh, land of the free and all that.” They smile at each other, wide and uninhibited, connected by their eyes and then their lips. 

“So, what are you working on?” Alex asks when they part.

“I’m reviewing some notes June sent on a chapter in my manuscript.”

“The one on Boston marriages?” Henry nods in response. “Good, she probably needs something to do now that I’m not in D.C. as much,” Alex says, nodding seriously. 

Henry huffs out a small laugh. “I don’t know, love. She’s the one with an actual book deal.” He sips his tea and continues reading over June’s suggestions. 

They stay like that: Alex with his coffee and news, Henry with his tea and writing; Alex’s legs are draped over Henry’s lap, and Henry is resting a hand on Alex’s knee. Henry has to balance his laptop on Alex’s shins, but they don’t mind. 

Once they are caffeinated and dressed for the day, they step outside into the warm May sunshine. Cash and Henry’s PPOs follow them on their walk to their favorite brunch spot nearby. The hostess, Megan isn’t surprised to see the First Son of the United States and the Prince of Wales walk into the restaurant, although some of the other diners are. Alex and Henry follow Megan to their favorite table in the back where it’s more difficult for paparazzi to interrupt them. 

They aren’t upset, however, when two young women who look about their age walk hesitantly but directly towards them.

“Um, excuse me, hi,” says one of the women. She has warm brown skin and curly dark hair that is pulled back from her face. The other woman has smooth black hair, and she is wearing trendy wire-rimmed glasses. “My name is Valeria, this is my, uh,” she looks at the woman next to her and smiles, “this is my girlfriend, Rachel. We didn’t want to interrupt, I just wanted to thank you,” she says, looking at Alex. “Your speech a few months ago really helped me to come out to my parents. It just really meant a lot, you know, to see another brown bi person so _out_. So, yeah,” she laughs nervously, “Thank you. And I’m so sorry about how you were outed,” she cringes, “that was horrible.”

“Yeah, it was definitely pretty bad, but we’re here now, so,” Alex smiles up at them from where he’s sitting. “I’m glad my speech helped you. Other folks being so vocal and supportive when everything happened really helped us to come out too, so we know how it feels.” Valeria and Rachel both look more surprised now than nervous.

They learn Valeria is from Arizona and Rachel is from California, and that they’re both in their final year at Columbia where Valeria is studying economics and Rachel is studying film. After they’ve all taken a selfie and Valeria and Rachel go back to their own table, Henry waves Megan over and asks her to add the women’s bill to their own tab. Alex smiles at him from behind a wall of drinks.

“We need more friends,” he tells Henry. “Queer friends, especially.”

Henry nods contemplatively. “But, how?”

“I don’t know. We could drag our sisters to New York?” Alex says, only half joking.

“Maybe we could do something through the shelter,” Henry suggests, with less humor in his voice. “Like programming for young queer people.” He smiles, eyes lighting up. “We could do movie nights, community dinners, a _book club_!”

Alex nods excitedly, “That’s a really great idea, Hen.” A server walks towards their table, and they order french toast and smoked salmon to share. The first time they came here, Alex made the mistake of ordering the huevos rancheros. It hadn’t been _bad_ , per say, but it didn’t live up to his standards.

“Is that going to be enough food?” Henry asks.

“Uh, yeah, I think so. But if you’re hungry, order more.”

“No, no, I just meant you’re not supposed to go to the grocery shop hungry is all.”

Alex can't stop himself from laughing. “And what do you know about grocery shopping?” He asks.

“About as much as you,” Henry accuses. “Also, I may have done research. To adequately prepare myself.”

Alex’s mouth curves into a smile at his ridiculous, wonderful boyfriend. “Oh? Is there a _Princes’ Guide to Grocery Shopping_ or something?”

“No, I read it in _Good_ _Housekeeping for the Independent Figurehead_ , actually.” The gleam in Henry’s eyes matches the playful energy of Alex’s smile.

“Well, I think we’re doing well. We’ve managed to feed ourselves, haven’t we?” Alex says.

“I think that’s more attributable to all the takeaway rather than our homemaking skills, dear.”

“Hey, I’m a great chef! Or did you forget I’m making mole tonight, _dear?_ That’s the whole reason we’re going to the market.” Alex cocks his head and purses his lips.

“Here I thought we were going to the market to spend the afternoon together.” Henry leans across the table in a challenge. 

“No, we’re going to the market to get ingredients for mole. We’re at brunch to spend time together,” Alex says, leaning towards Henry in return.

“Ah, back to my earlier point, we’re actually at brunch because you’re not supposed to go to the grocery shop hungry.” Henry leans back now, and crosses his arms with a smug look.

Their food arrives before they can continue debating the details of their weekend plans. 

“So who wins?” Alex asks once their server has left. 

“Both of us, love,” Henry clinks his mimosa against Alex’s michelada. 

After finishing their food and drinks and taking more selfies on their way out the door, they walk back to their brownstone to retrieve David and reusable shopping bags before they walk to Fort Greene Park where the farmers market is every week. They stroll among the stalls, looking for a vegetable stand, so Alex can get the ingredients he needs. With the addition of a dog, security, and stopping for more selfies, they go slowly.

“Oh, Alex! This place has wine from a local vineyard!” Henry says not twenty feet into the market, grabbing his hand to drag him toward an elaborate table display full of wine bottles.

The vendor’s eyes grow wide in recognition, and then he pulls his shoulders back and stiffens his spine.

“Hello, sirs,” the man says, clearly trying to muster the confidence to sell wine to a prince. “How may I help you?”

Alex listens while Henry launches off into descriptions of different wines he likes; Alex recognizes all of the words Henry uses, but he doesn’t really understand what they mean. The man nods along, and he makes a few recommendations, relaxing as he continues talking to Henry. Alex doesn’t know if any of the words are in French, but he feels the same way he did that time Henry ordered for them in Paris. Alex has stopped paying attention, lost in the way Henry’s strong hands are waving while he talks about the different varieties of French–American hybrid grapes, until the man passes them both small plastic cups filled with wine. Given the size of the cup, Alex feels compelled to shoot it, but he doesn’t want to give Henry a heart attack in the middle of the park, so he swirls and sniffs and sips instead.

“Alex? What do you think?” Henry asks

“It’s good, yeah, I like it,” Alex tries, “it has, er, good undertones.” He hadn’t even been paying enough attention to fake a real answer the way he had in school. He smiles at Henry, silently begging him with his eyes not to ask any more questions.

Henry turns back to the salesman and says, “We’ll take one each of the baco noir, zinfandel, dechaunac, vidal blanc, and the riesling, please.” Alex concludes that some of that must have been French because it’s definitely doing something to him. “Oh, and would it be possible to pick it up on our way out?” Henry asks. “We just got here.”

“Of course, sir,” the man says, packing their wine into a box.

“Please, call me Henry,” he says, passing a credit card across the table. Henry’s smiling, and it’s definitely not the same boisterous smile from brunch, but it isn’t his press smile either.

David pulls them away from the wine vendor, and they soon find themselves in front of another table display, this one filled with cheese. Henry reaches for a sample with one hand and excitedly grabs Alex’s wrist with the other.

“So much for not grocery shopping hungry, huh?” Alex remarks. 

“What do you mean?” Henry asks, giving him a confused look. “I’m not going to eat a whole wheel of cheese right now.” Alex shakes his head, but he joins Henry at the table.

The cheese vendor is friendly as she tells them about the dairy farm upstate where they make the cheese. Alex and Henry taste samples, and this time Alex is able to point out his favorites. They can’t agree on which they like best though, so they have to purchase six different kinds. 

Alex is holding David’s leash with his left hand and Henry is carrying their bag of cheese with his right. Some people stare unashamedly as they continue walking past booths, more people try to act like they aren’t staring but are, and a few people whip out cell phones, but not a single person says anything about their hands clasped between them, fingers woven together.

They finally make it to the vegetable stall, and Henry slips away while Alex examines tomatoes and onions. Alex is paying for the food when Henry returns with a green carnation.

“For you,” he says, with a shy smile, holding the flower out to Alex.

“Thank you,” Alex says, trying to parse the look in Henry’s eyes.

“Oscar Wilde is credited with popularizing green carnations in the the late 19th century as a symbol of homosexuality,” Henry starts. “I know you’re bi, not homosexual, although there is evidence Oscar Wilde had genuine romantic relationships with women, too, actually. Anyways, I saw this, and I wanted you to have it.”

Alex looks directly into Henry’s eyes. “Thank you, really,” he says softly. 

“An acquaintance of Wilde, Robert Hitchens, wrote a novel titled _The Green Carnation_ about Wilde and his lover, Lord Alfred Douglas. Hitchens changed the names, of course, but everyone knew it was about them. Wilde was eventually charged with gross indecency. His—his letters to Alfred were presented as evidence at his trial.” Henry clears his throat. “He was convicted and sentenced to two years of hard labour. I can’t help but feel, I don’t know, responsible I guess,” Henry shrugs, “for the past and for the future, too.”

Alex really wants to kiss Henry until the burden is lifted from his shoulders, but they’re not ready for spontaneous kisses in public. Not yet, anyway. Instead, he wraps Henry in a hug, and pulls him down to whisper, “I know what you mean, baby. We can honor men like Wilde by remembering him for who he was, and we can make the future better, too, for other queer people by just living our lives as who we are. It’s like you told that girl in the hospital in London: we have to be true to ourselves. I know sometimes it feels like too much and other times like not enough, but look how far we’ve come already.” Alex presses his lips to Henry’s temple, willing all his love to pour out of him and into Henry’s brain. “If my place in history is to walk through Fort Greene Park on a Saturday and hold your hand, then I am so grateful and so damn proud.” Henry hugs him back, more of a squeeze, really, and Alex can feel his head nodding. “Do you want to go?”

Henry stands up straight and sticks out his chin. “No,” he says, determined, “I want to walk through the park and hold your hand.”

“Alright, come on. There’s fresh baguettes over there, and they are calling to me.”

They continue walking through the market, arms slowly loading up with bags of cheese, bread, vegetables, honey, and fruit, until Alex is trying to hold David’s leash and an iced coffee in the same hand.

“Hen, did you know iced coffee is a symbol of homosexuality, too?” Alex asks, a small smile dancing on his mouth.

Henry sighs. “Yes, Alex, I may have grown up in a palace, but I am familiar with gay Twitter. You’re the one that thought you were straight for twenty-one years!”

“I didn’t realize!” Alex says with playful indignation. “I really just thought all guys looked at other guys that way!” He drags his eyes over Henry, from the strip of skin peeking out between his leather trainers and his trousers to his oh-so-soft hair, and he winks. 

Once the vendors are starting to break down their tents, they take their groceries and David back in the direction of their brownstone, with Cash now carrying the wine.

Once they’re home, they unload their haul on the kitchen island. Henry takes four of his new bottles of wine down to the cellar while Alex stores the rest of the food and puts his carnation in a glass of water. They don’t own any bud vases yet. 

Henry returns to the kitchen a few minutes later with his worn copy of _Sense and Sensibility_ and a quilt that Catherine told them Arthur’s mother made. Alex washes the strawberries they bought and tears off two chunks of a baguette. Henry tucks the quilt and his book under one arm, and he carries two glasses of wine to the back door.

“You’ve got the food?” He asks. Alex nods. “Great, I’ll meet you in the garden, then.” David follows him through the door. Alex slices cheese and dumps all of the food onto a plate.

They eat on the quilt, which they have spread out on a patch of grass in their yard. After they finish their picnic, Alex quickly downs the last of his wine, picks up the lacrosse stick he brought from Austin and tosses a tennis ball for David. While David is running after his ball, Alex turns to look behind himself to where Henry is still sprawled out on the quilt, wine in one hand, his book in the other. Henry is looking back at him, his eyes crinkled and shining brightly over the top of his book, happy.

**Author's Note:**

> _“to forget that I have ever been in a prison at all [...] would mean that I would always be haunted by an intolerable sense of disgrace, and that those things that are meant for me as much as for anybody else – the beauty of the sun and moon, the pageant of the seasons, the music of daybreak and the silence of great nights, the rain falling through the leaves, or the dew creeping over the grass and making it silver – would all be tainted for me, and lose their healing power, and their power of communicating joy.”_
> 
> – Oscar Wilde, _De Profundis_


End file.
